Left 4 Stories
by Jacques Toussant
Summary: Left 4 Stories is a series I'm starting to describe the relationship between Humans and Infected. Coupled with original characters and Survivors. T: Blood, gore, Language, and ?. WARNING: Some character deaths. Please Read and Review.
1. Begin

Left 4 Stories: Stay Away

Common are distinguished from their brethren in one key action. Specials can speak. What started at first as a scared-out-of-my-mind experience, presents itself as an unpredictable cauldron of emotions. Uncanny matches and bonds have been recorded throughout history. This is no love story.

He sat, waiting for them in the rain, his rifle held high. This was his last stand, and by God, he wasn't goin' out without a bang. It was him, a house, and a whole horde of these bastards headed for him. Then he heard it. The moaning of the many hollow shells he promised to kill with his own bare hands. Then he heard crying. A gut wrenching sob of sorrow; and also a warning.

He told himself this, "I finally realized just how fucked I truly am."

His name was Steven, Steven Brockwell, a man no older than twenty. He brushed his long, raggedy, black hair out of his face, looking for the sobbing, until realizing it was in his sanctuary. The house. "God dammit!" He shouted, going into the house. His brown jacket was bloodied, and so were his jeans. He walked inside the house, hoping she wasn't in the main entrance. He just couldn't believe his luck. The witch stood, and walked away, sobbing.

"Don't you want to claw the shit out of me?" He was being sarcastic to himself, whispering under his breath.

He began to break into a cold sweat as she turned her head. "No......Just...Stay.....AWAY." She walked off, sobbing. But poor Steven could not get enough, he followed her. She heard his foot steps, and she sat down, choosing the comfy corner she had chosen for at least a month. She sat, her long, gray, hair askew, crying. Steven wandered in, and fumbled for a light switch. She heard him, and she started growling. He raised his hand, laying his gun on the ground, defenseless.

"No harm," He said raising his hand, "See." She stopped growling. "No.....Hurt?" She asked. "Yeah, no hurt." He wanted to live (Plus this might be the only person he would talk to.) "Sit." She commanded. "Sure I-I'll sit." The last thing he wanted was to piss her off. "I....Like...Your jacket. Can....I wear." He complied, tossing the jacket. Right then Lightning went off, and he saw her groping for the jacket. He advanced towards her, hands raised. She hissed, stopping him dead in his tracks. She got on her knees and crawled, jacket in claw, towards Steven. She stopped and stood, looking into his eyes with her glowing red eyes. "Whatcha' lookin' at?" he said. She merely raised her claw and placed it on his cheek. "It's.....Been....So......Long.....Steven." He realized something just then and their. "Holy fucking Mary and Joseph. Kid?" she pulled her claw away, scratching Steven.

She cried, and walked to the room next to her. It hurt Steven, she was like his kid sister. He remembered it all. Since it was 2009, and her birthday passed a day ago, She was 19 right of now. Her name was Eleanor, but he always called her kid from the day they met. He met her of 2002. Being thirteen then and she being 12. He had moved to 212 Mountain Grove in the small town of Spruce Hill, Oregon, the town he just happened to be in, also the address. He moved into a big white house next to an old dingy house.

He had been unpacking until he heard a knock on the door. His mother rushed to the door and opened it, welcomed to the grinning face of a 12 year old girl. She had bleached white hair that went down to her shoulders, with big blue eyes, a pair of blue jeans and a gray T. "Welcome neighbors! My names Eleanor, I live across the street." She said happily, so cheerfully. "Well its nice to meet you, Eleanor." His mother replied. Eleanor looked around Steven's mother, spotting him. "Who's that?" She quickly asked, a quizzical expression on her face. His mother cocked her head and turned around, seeing Steven. "Steven, come meet our new neighbor. Well Eleanor, this my son, Steven."

Steven sighed and walked to the door, offering his hand to Eleanor in a handshake. In that moment she gripped his hand, she looked into his eyes with her two eyes and smiled. Immediately Steven was whooshed to the present, seeing the Witch move into the other room. "Eleanor, wait!" he yelled, walking after her. She quickened her pace, the sobbing getting louder. She suddenly broke out screaming, covering her head, running to the next room. He heard chairs being knocked down, dishes dropping and breaking. "Leave....me....A-Alone!" She screamed, huddling on the ground.

Steven went back, he remembered the handshake. He was sitting in his room, practicing his violin. He was playing Beethoven's 09. He finished up the the piece and put the violin away in its case. "What I would give to meet Beethoven." He sighed, stood from his chair and slipped a Beetles disk into his CD player. He grabbed a towel and walked to his bathroom. He turned on the hot water and began removing his clothes. He quickly took his shower, dressed, and walked out of his room. He was 16 then, and he was allowed to drive. He walked out of the house and was greeted by Eleanor's 14 year old grinning face.

"Whatcha' doin'?" she asked, trying to annoy him. "Going out for a drive, kid. What about you?" He replied. "Just came to visit. Did you finish the project for Mrs. Thomas's Class?" She was in all his classes, despite her age. She had skipped a grade and caught up with him in his classes. _She must be some kind of over achiever or something_, he thought. "Yup, I even did the extra credit." He opened the door to his small Volkswagen minivan his mother had bought them.

"More room mean's more more friends, dear." she had told Steven when they first got it. "Hey, Steven, mind if I tag along?" Eleanor asked. "Sorry kid, I have some business take care of. My dad's coming home from Texas today." Steven said. "How about showing him your _girlfriend_? Hint, hint." She suggested, putting a large grin on her face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude." Steven said, as he was whisked back to reality. He walked away, trying to find his gun. "You.....Go, You......Die."

She hopped into the passenger seat, next to Steven. His cell phone went off, the caller ID being Morgue. He slowly answered the phone, trying not to cry. "Hello. This is Steven Brockwell speaking."

"Hello Mr. Brockwell. We are just calling you to inform you of your fathers death. Your cell was the only available option."

"I see. What happened to my father."

"Well first, he's dead," The caller gave a nervous chuckle, "He died of asphyxiation, It looks like he was compressed by something larger and more powerful than a common strangler. He's completely covered in bruises that wrap around him and his neck. It's quite an enigma, but CEDA found out and is now currently identify the wound and its origin. That's all Mr. Brockwell."

Steven leaned forward, his head hitting the steering wheel. His shoulders began to shake as he cried.

"Steven...It's all right. Everybody dies.....Someday."

Steven was once again whisked to his current situation. "Don't.....Go.......You.....Die." Eleanor said, still huddled. Steven whispered to himself "It's okay. Everybody dies." He regained his composure and defiantly walked towards her. He wasn't about to let his friend rot in a house, alone, and cold. He neared her, seeing her scramble to a wall, closing in. She started screaming, her eyes looking at him. He was 6 feet away, barely out of the reach of her claws. He lowered to his knee and extended his hand towards her. She lightly extended a hand towards him, nicking his finger. All Steven could do was smile. And she smiled, and by God, he bet the zombies were smiling too. "My names Steven, yours is Eleanor, and we are leaving."

Sadly, the love session did not take well to the imposing Horde, whom of course were waiting for the prey that lay in the house. Steven heard the roar of a Tank, the scream of a Hunter, and the cough of a Smoker. He stood, and went to the area he was in before, which was a barren living room. He kneeled, grabbing his gun and jacket. He slipped on the brown jacket, and reloaded his gun. "Eleanor do yo understand me?" He asked, looking at her. She nodded her head, getting up. "Good," He said, approaching the door, "Because if you remember, we easily got out of the college classes because of your random outbreaks. Now when I open the door, you scream, and well, maybe it will sort of go from there."

He heard the scream of a hunter and the solid thump of a head colliding against a door. An audible snap echoed out, the fact being that if you put two and two together, a neck will probably snap if it hits a door. "3....2...1, and go." The plan went to hell, all because **these **zombies were impatient, smashing open windows. He shot off his rifle, emptying a clip into at least three of the guys. He hated WWII weapons. It was an M1 Garand, and he had enough ammo to last against the horde. With a hint of meaning, Eleanor struck Steven behind her, screaming. The horde subsided, not wanting o accept Eleanor's challenge. The only one to take the challenge was a Tank, loud and proud. She screamed again as the tank roared from outside, bashing a hole in the wall. He charged Eleanor, roaring in rage. She charged as well, but in reality, it was a one sided match. He batted her into a wall, rushing Steven. When he approached Steven, he began crushing him, pounding him into the ground. But Eleanor recovered, and went to the aid of her Incapacitated friend. She jumped on the Tanks back, ripping chunk after chunk of flesh off.

Steven simply wandered off.

He was 20 at the time. It was the start of the infection, and his friend, Eleanor was in the hospital.......

He wandered at the sight of her skin graying, and her eyes reddening. It was the symptoms of some sickness, he knew, but it just wasn't coming to him. Suddenly, the machine monitoring her heart flatlined. She rose with a start and began vomiting blood into her oxygen mask. "Take the mask off Steven! She won't live if you don't take it off. Steven rushed to her aid, removing the mask. but it wasn't over yet. She threw up yet again, the floor slicking with vomit ad blood. A man with a defibrillator rushed into the, screaming "Clear!" Her heart once again began to beat.


	2. Amnesia

Warning: Story just switched to first person. Plus, use Google translate to translate the french

After the memory's, I just faded. My father used to tell me that Black was peace. So I'm just going to recap right now. I was just standing in the rain, Waiting for the horde, and then I hear crying. Yup, just great. So then I walk in to find out? What the fuck was I thinking. So then blah happens, emotional stuff, you know? After that zombies break into the house I'm in. Just great. Now, this is what happens.

* * *

Beethoven just played in my head while I remembered.....Nothing? I just blanked out. It had something to do with college, I think. I wish I knew, but I woke to soon. I just remembered the face, those red eyes, and that creepy smile. When I woke a dead thing was on me. It was a hulking brute smooshed up next to me. His jawless face and his dead eyes were facing me. Within minutes, though, I felt a searing pain in my chest. It felt like I had been crushed, like someone had bashed my chest in. Then I heard talking, just plain old talking.

"Frère, que pensez-vous que l'infection est comme?"said one.

"juste être tranquille." Said the other.

I started rasping for help. Suddenly, the first ones voice became alert.

"Quelle est cette?Someones parle....." He said

"Oh yeah? Vous êtes fou comme la mère de!" Said the other one.

"Non, je suis sérieux!"

"Que dit-elle?"

"Au secours, je pense qu'il ya de l'aide."

"Fuck lui, nous devrions laisser!"

"Nous devons aider......"

"Non!"

"Je vous aiderai....."

"Aller pourrir dans un fossé! Voir si je garde!"

Suddenly, a man slowly walked appearing over the horizon, until he saw me in the entry way to the house, door wide open. He ran to my location, and once he got to me, he took out a first aid kit. Then he started treating the many wounds while talking. I was screaming, pain wracking every bone in my body, a searing burn in my chest, and then he said this.

"Juste être tranquille. Ce n'est rien comparé à Foucarville."

The pain was unbearable! Finally though, he was patching up most of what had been my chest, wrapping a soaked gauze bandage around my chest. A calming feeling suddenly over took my body, and I slowly drifted to sleep. In my head it was a matter of minutes until I woke up, but I knew in reality that it was a couple of well needed hours. Save for a stiff back, a cold feeling, and a blissful mind that clearly signified something bad, I was okay. But when I woke up it felt alien, like I wasn't in my body. But the first thing I saw was a mans face, smile across his face. I realized then why the my back was stiff, it was because I was in the back of a brown ruddy truck. God knows what Iwas in their for, but it only meant thta I was safe.

"Name is Jacques. And going to be okay, you are." The man barely managed to say the sentence. It was not an accent, but it was more of wrong words.

"Brother......your rambling can stop. Let me do the talking." The voice came from the driver, who was snickering as Jacques He looked viciously to the driver of the truck, then focused his attention on me

"Why are you here?" I asked, forgetting to ask about anything but this.

"I came form the french army to here, I America," He paused to do a plane symbol with his hands, while he showed his other hand simulating a man jumping.

"So your a paratrooper?" I asked.

"Yes, I am paratrooper!" He said with glee.

Suddenly he helped me up, as I had been laying down.

"Jesus, it is war zone out there, is it not?" He asked.

"Yeah. Hey, you know where I am?"

"Yes, you are in Spruce hill, Oregon." He said.

"Really...."

If I had no idea where I was, then I suffered from amnesia. But I seriously feel like I forgot about something( no duh!)....Something important. With that the truck stopped. The driver walked out, gas can in hand. Jacques began to ask me questions, to see if I had a concussion, the usual stuff.

"Dude, what did you use? I mean my chest feel's fine." I said.

"Gauze and Preperation C." He said.

"What?! You mean that ass cream? That's disgusting!" I yelled. The driver began to chuckle at my comment.

Jacques once again shot a look and began to explain what Preperation C was. Apparently it was devoloped by some scientists as the wonder gel. It just kind of healed the bone and wounds. It was for emergency causes, but when coupled with gauze and water, it was stabilized and therefore could be used for war zone puposes. With that he told me to lay down, as I couldn't put any stress on my bones in my chest.


	3. Memory's

Please R&R

* * *

I sat in the truck.....wondering. Suddenly a bump in the road shook the truck.

"Frère, je pense que nous en purée un chien malheureux." Said the driver. Apparently he did not want me to understand.

"Oui, soyez tranquilles et voir ce qu'il est." Jacques replied. I guess he didn't want me to understand either.

Suddenly the driver stepped out and inspected the front of the truck.

"Dégoûtant! Il est laid comme ta mère, Jacques!" He yelled.

"Elle est votre mère, Allen!"yelled Jacques.

The driver yelled back, "Alors? Elle est toujours laid!"

I quickly turned to Jacques, asking him about the situation. He simply replied that it was a dog, and that his brother hit it.

"So, the driver is your brother, then? What's his name?" I asked.

"It is Allen. He is my Stepbrother, anyways. We met first when I was **twelve." **he said.

Twelve set me off then, I remembered something, about the town, and my life.

_I was unpacking a box, my mother hanging a picture. At least I think it was my mother. Anyway, a knock was heard at the door, so I guessed we were in some big house. My mother answered the door, and at the door was a beaming girl of twelve. She looked so happy..... She had these big, wonderful, blue eyes, and this kind face. "Hi! Welcome neighbor. My names Eleanor and, well, I just came to say hi." She was so happy, so happy that I just felt sorry for her. Suddenly she looked around my mother, spotting me. She had this stupid look on her face, it looked so retarded. "Who's that?" she asked. My mother turned around, looking round. "Mr. Brockwell, I think you have some introductions to make." She said, as if I was some dumb five year old. The girl giggled as I walked towards her. She extended her hand for me to shake, and she gave me this look. It creeped me out a bit, but it felt peaceful, and serene, when I looked at her eyes. Suddenly I realized, she had bleached hair. Like, bleach white hair!_

Suddenly I was put staring at Jacques. He was shaking me, asking if I was okay. I replied with a yes., and I didn't know why, but I got teary eyed.

"Hé mon frère, nous sommes presque arrivés au camp!" His brother yelled, it sounded important.

I asked about what his brother said. He quickly replied, saying something about a camp.

"What?" I said, obviously confused. Jacques gave me a funny look, like I was stupid. Then I heard a trumpet, shouting, and then a gun shot. A bell started ringing, and the truck abruptly stopped,.

Jacques started yelling in french, waving his arms wildly.

"What are you doing? Seriously, you look stupid!" I told him.

Two gunshots rang out. He flailed his arms around even more wildly.

Suddenly he sat down, and looked at me.

"I am not a paratrooper! I am a simple American who was caught up in this. My names not Jacques, it's Ellison! And I'm not a paratrooper, Allen is!" He preceded to sink his face into his hands, crying.

Finally the driver spoke up, "I am not his brother, but I am his cousin. His **father's **name was Jacques, but he **died prior to the infection. **"

"Died prior to the infection" set me off, and I began to remember something else.  
___________________Memory of Steven_______________________

I was sitting in his room, practicing my violin. I always hated the thing, it was frustrating. I was playing Beethoven's 09. I finished playing the piece of crap, muttering something. I put the violin away in its case.

"What I would give to meet Beethoven. Would have taught him how to play the violin." I sighed, stood from my chair and slipped a Beetles disk into my CD player. I grabbed a towel and walked to my bathroom. I turned on the hot water, and well, began to take a shower. I was 16 then, and I was allowed to drive. Look out world. I walked out of the house, dressed of course, and I was greeted by Eleanor's 14 year old grinning face.

"Whatcha' doin'?" she asked, trying to annoy me. "Going out for a drive, kid. What about you?" I replied, not wanting to tell her a lot. It wasn't that I didn't trust her, it was just that, I kept to myself most of the time. Not the best kind of friend.

"Just came to visit. Did you finish the project for Mrs. Thomas's Class?" She was in all my classes, despite her age. She had skipped a grade and caught up with me in his classes, always keeping close to me, like some kind of obsession. _She must be some kind of over achiever or something_, I thought.

"Yup, I even did the extra credit." I said, not wanting to tell her that I neglected to do the thing at all. I opened the door to my small Volkswagen minivan my mom had bought for the family.

"More room mean's more more friends, dear." she had told me when I first got it.

"Hey, Steven, mind if I tag along?" Eleanor asked. "Sorry kid, I have some business take care of. My dad's coming home from Texas today." I said, excited.

"How about showing him your _girlfriend_? Hint, hint." She suggested, putting a large grin on her face. Jesus, I hated that stupid grin.

She hopped into the passenger seat, next to me, again, obsession. My cell phone went off, the caller ID being Morgue. I slowly answered the phone, trying not to cry, knowing it was horrible news and timing. "Hello. This is Steven Brockwell speaking."

"Hello Mr. Brockwell. We are just calling you to inform you of your fathers death. Your cell was the only available option."

"I see. What happened to my father."

"Well first, he's dead," The caller gave a nervous chuckle, "He died of asphyxiation, It looks like he was compressed by something larger and more powerful than a common strangler. He's completely covered in bruises that wrap around him and his neck. It's quite an enigma, but CEDA found out and is now currently identify the wound and its origin. That's all Mr. Brockwell."

I leaned forward, my head hitting the steering wheel. My shoulders began to shake as I cried. It wasn't fair, I mean, come on. Sow hat if my old man had it coming, he didn't deserve to die yet.

"Steven...It's all right. Everybody dies.....Someday." Eleanor told me, trying to comfort me.

"It's not okay! He's dead, dead. D-E-A-D! Dead! Get it through your head!"I yelled. She got out of the car, crying.  
___________Back to the Present____________________________

I woke out of memory's, only to see tents, lots of tents.

"Were am I?" I asked Ellison.

He had stopped crying then, and he told me one thing. "Hell." I could tell that this wasn't going to be a party.


End file.
